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Monday, 6 May 2013

Pirates

By Reg Elliot

In my families six years at Leverton
Street, Ponsford, I learnt three things about my seven year old next
door neighbour Robert Hedges. Firstly I recall his extreme allergic
reaction to animals, dogs in particular. His allergy meant that my
family were the recipients of a black Labrador that I subsequently
named Rufus. Rufus was for three days a birthday present for Robert’s
seventh birthday. During those three days Hedges nearly stopped
breathing twice. Hedges sister too was gifted a cat for her fifth
birthday only for Hedges again to have a reaction to the cat which
was subsequently palmed off, this time to the neighbours of the
other side of the Hedges house. There were no more pets for birthdays
for the Hedges children.

Secondly, Hedges was a thief and a bad
liar. His lying improved with time as I recall and his thieving was
in decline as our years at Leverton Street drew to a close. I myself
thought Hedges was in reality just getting better at not getting
caught which of course went hand in hand with his lying improving.

Lastly anyone that remembers Hedges from
those days will recall the constant wearing of Pirates outfits from a
very young age. He was all eye-patches and rubber swords from an
early age and his mother constantly wore pink welts upon her legs
courtesy of said rubber sword. Hedges thieving ways were uncovered
early and in keeping with his pirate-persona, he buried his spoils.
My father came to my rescue after I had misplaced my favourite yellow
toy earth-mover confronting Robert and cleverly tricking him into
showing us where he kept his buried treasure.

Those days were a million years ago,
still through an old friend I recently learnt Hedges and I have a
little in common. Hedges, still apparently on the wrong side of the
law and me, supposedly upholding it. He probably hated the Police,
from the outside. I’d been in the force too long, so I hated it
from the inside. Truth be known I hated myself for not having the
guts to leave. Recent events had me thinking I was playing a
dangerous game in staying. Still If I had not given a ticket to most
of the female drivers I’d slept with that probably would be a
crime. Assaulting a motorist was much, much worse but highly
enjoyable at the time. But pocketing some evidence from a crime
scene was pretty dumb even by my recent standards. Still, in my
defence I had a mates buck weekend coming up and it was my job to
arrange the gear. Since I was policing soooo
hard and diligently recently I’d had no time to contact my normal
source. It was justified.

I was kind of waiting for something very
bad to happen really. Something that would force my hand and have me
leave the force. Probably in disgrace. My conservative middle-class
upbringing meant I was concerned for my parents if this was to be the
case.

In my spare time I was working on my
daring escape from the NSW public sector. I likened it to digging a
tunnel to the real world. I now had various pieces of Painted art,
stained glass and even some sculptures all forming a body of work
that might sustain me if I made the leap to full time artist. I had
my eye on a metal-work course as well. But after three years my
tunnel was getting long and a break-through to the surface had to
come soon.

I thought of Hedges a lot. His
misplaced birthday present caused an incident that altered the
fortunes of my family forever when my father tripped over the jet
black dog in the dark of night to fracture his back badly ending up
in a wheelchair and jobless. The ramifications were untold. Hedges
had his freedom and independence. My mother brother and I all had to
work like slaves to help the family. Mostly I felt for my mother. It
was an existence none of us had envisaged.

Mid way though my twenty ninth year and
on an otherwise unforgettable day on the job, I was en route to
deliver a hand written apology to the victim of my assault (a
condition of the settlement) when my Squad car was diverted to assist
in a routine arrest. Arriving moments after the suspect was
apprehended I was chatting to colleges in the high end kitchen of an
obviously wealthy family home when a family photo caught my eye.
There was Robert Hedges, unmistakable as an eight year old Pirate,
holding his fucking rubber sword so high it nearly defied the laws of
one dimensional photography and stuck me in the eye. Next to it was
Hedges as a leather-clad biker perched upon some great dark beast of
a motorbike a shit-eating grim plastered across his face. It was a
grin of a man getting away with something. I looked around the house
stunned to reach the top bedroom floor and seeing his sumptuous rear
garden and pool. It was immaculate right down to the carefully
presented headstone-like cross stabbed into the dark soil of a well
manicured garden bed at the rear of the yard. The cross was at the
head of a tiny grave. The whole house and garden were incredible. I
guess Hedges had made it.

I left felling empty, cheated and angry.
I hope Hedges was found guilty of whatever it was he did to get
arrested. I was crossing the sandstone threshold of his front door
reflecting on all manner of things when I thought of the grave. You
don’t burry people in gardens? Well Hedges might? Most people
would bury pets. Hedges and pets didn’t mix.

By 5:45am the following morning I had
left the grave as it was, washed my shovel and was seated at my
kitchen table. I had drafted my resignation and counted out eight
hundred and thirty nine thousand dollars in cash. I guess Hedges
wasn’t the Pirate after all.